A Fflam is…
by RhiannonAmidala
Summary: The musings of a Fflam locked in Achren's dungeon. Completed!


Yay! so this one shot is finally finished. Thanks to CompanionWanderer for being wonderful and betaing this! No I don't own Prydain or Ffludder, etc...

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Great Belin. How had he gotten into this mess?

The wiry bard stretched his legs out – thankful that at least the cell was large enough to move about in – and stood up to pace. He had been walking along as blithe as you please, enjoying the weather and the singing of the birds when he had chanced to see the castle before him. It was high time for a meal, and perhaps the lord of this castle would have a better ear for a fine tune than the last fellow. A Fflam was forgiving, but that beating had been quite unnecessary, he was sure.

He had ridden boldly up to the gates, and the minute he had reached them, he'd had his doubts. So, at least, he told himself, then reflexively looked over his shoulder, waiting for a string to snap. No, he admitted silently – even after no sound of popping harp strings reached his ears – he had been completely fooled while he had played for that beautiful woman, until she commanded him to stop and summoned one of her guards. How he had jumped when one of Arawn's Cauldron Born had strode into the room!

"Our guest has earned his reward. See he gets it," was all she said, and he had been dragged out of the room, stripped of his belongings, and thrown into this wretched cell. Oh, how he had fought! Taken down dozens of them...

…No. What was the use of coloring the facts at this particular moment? No one was listening, and if they were, nothing could kill the Cauldron Born. Well, they hadn't all been Deathless Warriors either, not that it made much difference.

He had realized as the door slammed, locking him in, that the woman could only have been Achren, and he had cursed himself as all kinds of a fool for not recognizing what must be Spiral Castle, but it hadn't lasted long. What he really needed at this moment was his harp. Even if the beastly old pot was a bother with all those constantly popping strings, at least it could keep him occupied, and give him the company he wished for.

He sat down again on the straw pallet, realizing it had been a considerable amount of time since he'd had his last meal, and would probably be considerably longer before he had another, so saving his energy might just possibly be a good idea. He had nothing better to do than think fondly of food and his little kingdom, and wonder morosely what had happened to his beloved harp, especially since there was a brave melody coming to him and he wanted to try it out. He thought the melody would make an excellent tune to go with the song he ought to compose of his capture.

He enjoyed this occupation for quite some time before he was brought up dead with the realization that he wouldn't be able to sing any of it within earshot of that pesky harp. Well, harps didn't really have ears, but sometimes he was under the impression that _his_ did.

Ah well, it was worth the distraction it had given him, and he badly needed distraction, for he was beginning to feel the full effects of his situation. Food! He was famished, his last real meal who knows when. Thoughts of food flooded his brain and he was so engrossed with them that he barely noticed when the door grated open again and a small, stale loaf of bread and a brackish cup of water were thrust in.

It was some time before he noticed the bread, and he ate it with something less than relish; at least it was only stale, not moldy…

He spent the next few days alternately pacing and sitting, and now, more than ever, he missed his harp. He had come up with quite a jaunty tune, and words to go with it, and his fingers were itching to try it out.

He was even hungrier than before, but then, a Fflam is enduring, and at least Achren seemed to have forgotten about whatever she had meant to do to him. The usual stale loaf of bread and cup of brackish water was shoved in, and he promptly devoured it. No point in letting it get staler.

He picked the last crumbs from the folds of his jacket, his eyes fixed vaguely on the flagstone at his feet. It seemed to be moving. No…that was impossible. He was seeing things, surely. He blinked, and stared hard, then nearly jumped out of his skin as the entire stone lifted and was pushed to the side. A Fflam is brave, but there was no denying he was startled. Even more startling was the sight of a very real girl who climbed up through the hole, and said,

"The boy in the next cell asked me to help you both escape, and I agreed. I'm going to lead you out, then go back for him."

She was a winsome lass, and it would be silly to suspect her; she was too much in earnest, and something about the scraggly red-gold hair and dirty white gown suggested that she was not on the best terms with Achren. A Fflam is trusting after all.

"Lead on! A Fflam is always ready for adventure!" Not to mention a way out of this cell, but it would never have done to say such a thing. He was about to follow her, when he remembered his harp. "There wouldn't be any chance of recovering my harp would there?" He was more anxious than he would have cared to admit.

"Oh, good! It _was_ yours then. It's waiting outside with your horse. She's very pretty by the way. I thought that it couldn't possibly be of any use to Achren because she absolutely loathes most kinds of music, and it was obviously well loved. Leaving it with her would be leaving a dove that one cared about in the hands, or should I say talons, of an eagle." For all her chatter, the girl moved very quickly, holding a glowing golden sphere above her head, and motioning the bard to follow her down into the tunnel below the cells. They moved briskly, and before long, they emerged from below the castle. She led him a little way away from the castle into the cover of the woods, and then paused.

"Here we are. There's your horse, and I'll be back in a moment or two." She darted away after this surprisingly short speech.

He suppressed a small nagging idea that formed in the back of his mind… Had the wrong person been rescued? He had certainly not had a horse before. But freedom was freedom, so he ignored the thought, and un-strapped the harp from the saddle. He handled it lovingly, before slinging it over his shoulder and turning to wait.

He waited for some time in the darkness, for the moon was behind the clouds, and tried not to be bothered by the thought that he might have been rescued by mistake.

Then the night air was rent with deafening crashes as if the earth itself had split and a great many stones were breaking apart and falling together. He was sorely tempted to get on the horse and ride away as quickly as possible, but a Fflam is honorable, and he had no doubt that riding away before he knew if the girl and her companion were going to come or not was not at all honorable.

After a few more minutes, he heard the sounds of feet running towards the grove, and he watched eagerly for some sign of them.

He heard a boy shout, "There they are!" and his suspicions were confirmed when the next words were, "Gwydion! Gwydion!"

The moon came out from behind the clouds, and time froze for a moment. The pure shock on the boy's face was quickly replaced by one of rage, and as his sword leaped out, Fflewddur darted behind a tree. A Fflam is valiant, but discretion is the better part of valor.


End file.
